


Checkmate

by IAmTheNightman98



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Dystopian Alternate Universe, F/F, lets see if you can make any sense of this, no idea what this is tbh, ramblings of a woman unhinged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23299813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmTheNightman98/pseuds/IAmTheNightman98
Summary: Brooke Lynn Hytes is the Queen of the North - a nation in the midst of a civil war and on the brink of collapse.She deals with impending doom the way that any rational person would. By marrying her senior advisor and going on the run.
Relationships: Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	Checkmate

Vanessa. 

Her wife. 

They’re in the Capitol building, staring at one another. 

Green meets hazel. 

Relief. 

Then terror. 

It radiates through Brooke. Everything. All at once and always. The building is burning. The rebels are closing in. They aren’t slowing down. 

Not even when Brooke is so exhausted that she can think of nothing but the frayed edges of every exposed nerve. Not even when Brooke is certain that she can’t live like this for an instant longer. 

Vanessa moves out of sight, crossing the bunker to help others. Brooke can barely draw a breath. 

She can’t do this anymore. 

-x- 

But she does.

Another day.

Brooke is there and Vanessa is there and there’s a battlefield before them. 

Relief. Then terror.

This is her life now. 

-x- 

The war goes on and Brooke and Vanessa are married. 

She is her wife.

Because of this, things are infinitely better. 

Because of this, things are infinitely worse. 

-x- 

She dreams of her.

-x- 

The misshapen piece of metal around Brooke’s finger is starting to turn her finger green. It used to be a key ring. Or maybe a piece of bullet casing. Brooke doesn’t remember. 

It’s neither of those things anymore.

It’s hope. It’s love. It’s Vanessa. It’s the only proof they have that this is real. A streak of silver on the fourth finger of her right hand. 

Yes, her right. 

-x-

When Brooke allows herself to fantasise about the war ending, it’s not victory that she pictures. 

Win or lose, if the war ended tonight, she would run to Vanessa. 

Always Vanessa. 

-x- 

Every time Brooke sees Vanessa, she’s certain that she cant endure this for a moment longer. Seeing her like this. Her hair is limp beside her dusty face. She’s coughing a lot. Sometimes there’s blood. 

There’s no natural light in the bunker beneath the Capitol building. Only darkness or fluorescence. Only silence or panicked whispers. Only fear. 

She can’t do this anymore. 

But Vanessa can. 

So, she does. 

She does.

-x- 

Silence between transmissions.

Oddly is on the outside, feeding back to them. Leading the resistance. She keeps Brooke updated. How many wounded. How many dead. Her and Vanessa strategise over the intercom into the early hours of the morning, because there’s only one way out of this bunker, and it’s the same way that the rebels can get in. They can't take the chance. 

Captain Oddly keeps Brooke updated, but there’s silence between transmissions and those pauses last for an eternity. 

Brooke has to distract herself. 

She revisits their wedding night so often that she only needs to close her eyes and find herself there. With her. 

“If anyone finds out,” Brooke had said to her, somewhat in the hazy afterglow of what they’d done, “if anyone finds out…”

Whispered. Foreheads pressed. 

“I know,” she’d said. Brooke remembers the feeling of Vanessa’s fingers intertwined with hers. 

“They’ll kill you.”

“I know.”

They’d both known the risks as well as each other. 

They’d known the risks, and they’d done it anyways. 

-x-

Brooke dreams of Vanessa’s death at her own unwilling hand. The rebels find them. Deem Brooke a traitor to the state. Vanessa - a traitor’s whore. They force Brooke to execute her. Not by Royal Decree, but by her own hand. 

She wakes in a panic, chest tight, heart racing, hands shaking. 

She used to wonder what hell would be like, out of morbid curiosity. Now she’s certain that nothing could be worse than this. 

-x- 

If they die, no one will ever know they were wed. The thought is equal parts comforting and unsettling. 

Vanessa knows her deepest secrets. Perhaps it was inevitable that she would become one of them. 

-x-

Nina is conducting a medical examination when she insists that the ring has to come off. It’s too tight. The skin beneath the metal is splitting and she’s going to get an infection. And if the last living member of the monarchy is going to die at war, it isn’t going to be from a fucking infection. 

It snaps at it comes off. Nina wipes it clean and hands it to her with a gentle nod. 

“Be careful,” she says.

She isn’t talking about the cut. 

She isn’t talking about the war.

She knows. 

She always knows.

-x- 

Later that evening - she thinks it’s evening, it’s hard to tell - she finds a needle and thread and sews the remnants of her ring into the cuff of her jacket, with clumsy stitches. 

Once its a part of her, she feels better. It’s her armour. 

That night was real with or without the ring, but she’s grown used to the feel of it against her skin. 

-x- 

Brooke fantasies about stealing a moment with her. Getting her far away from intrusive ears, just for a moment. Just for long enough to say meet me by the hatch. Tonight. 

They could get out of here. Run. Nobody would find them. 

Or maybe they’d be caught immediately. But surely anything would be better than this. 

But she looks to Vanessa and she’s sitting with one of the children on her lap. Brooke’s distant niece. Or cousin. The only heir to the throne. The only hope for the future, if they make it out of this alive. The child is curled against her and she’s sleeping and Vanessa is stroking her hair. 

Vanessa wouldn’t leave her. 

Not even just for a moment. 

-x-

In the twilight, between waking and sleep, Brooke closes her eyes. She goes to Vanessa’s bunk, even though she isn’t supposed to. Or Vanessa comes to hers, even though she isn’t supposed to. Or sometimes, they’re back in the forests on the edge of the city, another impossible meeting under the stars. The logistics of how they are together don’t matter, just that they are. Together. 

It’s dark. The lights are off. Everyone is supposed to be asleep. But if Brooke squeezes her eyes tight enough, moves her hand fast enough, she can sustain the fantasy for long enough to finish. Vanessa’s name pressing at the lump in her throat as she comes without a sound. 

-x-

She dreams that they capture her. Hold her for ransom. Brooke’s life for hers. 

She awakes with a jolt, anguish so raw that she tumbles from her bed until she falls to her knees in the cramped bathroom shared between many. Heaves and gasps until there’s nothing left in her stomach to lose. 

When she manages to stand, she creeps back to her bunk. She stops next to Vanessa’s. Vanessa is sleeping beside the child. Brooke is only checking on the child. 

They’re both okay. Alive. Breathing. Okay. 

Back in her bunk, a cold sweat of dread is upon her.

She’s put Vanessa in unspeakable danger. If anyone finds out, she could die and it would be her fault. 

She never should’ve asked. She never should’ve married her. 

She can’t bring herself to regret it. 

-x- 

Brooke sits beside Vanessa at breakfast. It’s okay, she’s her advisor. 

But not too close, she’s only her advisor. 

“The coffee is fine,” Vanessa tells her. Inconspicuous. 

The coffee is weak. It’s not fine at all. Brooke is pretty sure that the coffee can’t do this for much longer. But if Vanessa says the coffee is fine, then the coffee is fine.

“The coffee is the only thing keeping me going in here,” Brooke tells her.

Vanessa nods. 

Their knees touch beneath the table. Briefly. 

It’s enough.

-x- 

She can’t do this anymore, but she hasn’t figured out what to do next. There is still a war. She is still Brooke Lynn Hytes. Still Queen of the North. Vanessa is still her political advisor. Her strategist. Her right hand woman. Her lover. Her wife. 

The rebels want Brooke, not Vanessa, the advisor. 

They want her dead. Or captured. Gone. 

There’s amnesty for even the highest ranking political officers. For Yvie. For Nina. For Vanessa.

There would be no amnesty for Brooke’s wife. Or for the child. Brooke’s aunt’s granddaughter. The child that Vanessa cradles as though she is her own. 

Brooke would give her life for the child’s, but the rebels won't accept her offer. 

That, she thinks, means she’s on the side of the good guys. 

-x-

The periods of silence between transmissions get shorter. There is news of casualties on both sides. She listens to the list of the known dead for names that she recognises. And though she can see Vanessa - she watches over her constantly - her heart clenches tightly as the list is read. Waiting for Vanessa’s name. 

Yvie’s spies stand vigil on the highest ground thy dare climb to. Watching the enemy camp for hours. There is no news. 

Relief and terror have blurred into a single emotion. It’s the only thing she feels anymore. 

-x- 

She dreams of the beach. Vanessa is there. There are waves. Sun. Salt. Air. Sand. Pebbles. Vanessa. 

-x- 

A transmission comes the following day. 

“The bunkers location is compromised. Working on a plan for extraction. Over.”

But not over. 

-x- 

More than one person comments on how pleased she must be to be heading above ground as they travel through the maze of tunnels. She doesn’t know how to answer. 

There was a time when Brooke wanted nothing more than to be back on the surface. That is not the case now. It’s dangerous there. She doesn’t want Vanessa to be there. And she doesn’t want to be without Vanessa. 

-x- 

Her breath catches in her throat when she sees the moonlight. The moon had been high, almost full, on the night of their wedding. It’s almost full again now. 

A month. Or less. Or more. 

Too long. That’s the only measurement Brooke knows. It’s been too long since they were here last. 

They have to travel quickly. The ground crunches beneath them. It will be too cold to sleep outdoors. They need to travel quicker. 

-x- 

Yvie shouldn’t be able to spare a pilot, but she does. She sends Scarlet. Brooke knows she would trust nobody else. 

But there’s a problem. 

Seven people and one child. Five seats. 

Six people could squeeze, possibly. But seven would be dangerous. Seven wouldn’t work. 

Brooke can’t volunteer, but she wishes she could. She wishes that she could say that her and Vanessa are going to take their chances in the woods. Fuck, they’d even take the child too, if it meant this would end. But she can’t, because if the Queen is captured, then it’s checkmate. 

“I’ll stay,” Nina tells her. 

“I can come back for you,” Scarlet says. It’s a lie. 

Nina shakes her head. 

“You’re not staying alone.” 

Shuga is brave. 

-x-

A’keria is in the front seat of the helicopter, beside Scarlet. Brooke is in the back, in the middle of the row, with a hood over her hair. 

Vanessa clutches the child tightly, covering her ears. 

Brooke can feel Vanessa’s thigh against hers. It’s the closest they’ve been since their wedding night. 

The child starts to cry. Brooke wishes she could too. 

The moment they take off, there is no relief. Just terror. Blinding. All consuming terror. 

This is not the bunker. This is so much worse. They could be seen. Shot down. This could all end, and not in the way Brooke wants it to. Brooke is too scared to look at Vanessa. 

But she can’t help herself. 

She has her eyes squeezed shut. The helicopter is loud. 

Brooke leans close to her ear and whispers, “I love you.”

The helicopter is loud, but Vanessa nods. 

She forces herself to look away from Vanessa. 

There’s something in her eye, she tells Plastique, who sits beside her. 

She’s not crying. There’s something in her eye. 

-x-

Scarlet gets them to a safe house, far away from the city. 

It’s small and cold and the lights don’t work. Scarlet tells them not to light a fire. Not to open the door. 

She gives them a radio and a gun. Brooke won’t hold the gun, and Vanessa wont set down the child, so Mercedes takes it. 

Scarlet leaves quickly. She has to get back to Yvie. Brooke wishes that she could make her love for Vanessa known, too. 

-x-

Vanessa heats up tinned soup in an old pan on the stove as she holds the child on her hip. The baby is restless. Unable to speak. Looking for her mother. Vanessa is getting tired and Brooke can see it in her eyes. She offers to hold the girl for a while, so that she can brush Vanessa’s hand as she takes her. 

-x- 

There is only one bedroom in the safehouse, but it’s too cold to be in different rooms. A’keria helps Mercedes drag the mattress into the sitting room, along with all the bedding they can find. Plastique covers the windows with newspapers and thick curtains, so that they can light a few candles and pray they bring warmth. 

Vanessa insists on taking the first watch and Brooke stays up with her. The others sleep on the mattress with the baby between them. 

They sit on the small couch, watching the room. Listening outdoors. Brooke rests her head on Vanessa for a moment. Vanessa tells her not to pull it away. 

“Go to sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

-x-

Brooke wakes sooner than expected and sits up to take her turn watching. 

Vanessa is exhausted, putting up no protest about her watch ending prematurely as she rests her head on Brooke’s shoulder. 

She falls asleep holding Brooke’s hand. 

-x- 

Four rebels find the safehouse the next day. They approach noisily, chanting about killing the Queen. They never stand a chance. 

It happens quickly. A’keria yells at Brooke to take the child and hide in the wardrobe. So, Brooke does. Clamps her hand over the child’s mouth and covers them with dusty old coats. The child wants Vanessa, and Brooke does too. But Vanessa stays to fight. 

She can hear shouting. Gunfire. More shouting. More gunfire. Silence. 

-x- 

Mercede’s practically rips the door off the wardrobe when she opens it. Brooke knows from her face that they’re safe. It’s over, for now.

“Wil there be more?” Brooke asks. 

“Probably. Those soldiers were scouts. The ones that don’t return tell them which way we’re heading.”

So, the safehouse is compromised. 

When Vanessa comes back inside, she’s white as a sheet. There’s a deep gash on her left bicep. Brooke’s eyes flare wide, nobody told her. 

“It’s just a scratch,” Vanessa lies. 

The child opens reaches out for Vanessa, but the pain is too much and Vanessa can’t hold her. That’s how Brooke knows it’s bad. 

-x- 

The rebels are gone, but they are the furthest thing from safe. A’keria hotwires their truck and they hit the road. They dare not rest for too long. After fifty miles, they find a new vehicle to try and cover their tracks. 

They fled the safehouse with no preparation at all. All they have with them are what they are wearing at the time they left, and a few bottles of water. And the gun and radio. That’s it. 

A message from Yvie tells them that if they keep heading north they should find another safehouse. She can’t be any more specific than that, for now, which means they’ll have to make do on their own. 

-x-

Brooke is fucking cold. Laying against the icy metal in the back of the truck. They’re covered from the elements, but only barely. Vanessa sleeps beside her. One less jacket on than everyone else, because she’d given hers to cover the child. 

She looks down at the child in her arms, somehow able to sleep too. Brooke had never met the girl before the start of the war. The family of her aunt had been captured and brought to the Capital. A rescue mission had been launched, but the girl was the only survivor. 

She’s never been fond of children. Never wanted children of her own. But Vanessa loves her, and she has nobody else, so Brooke supposes that means she’s theirs now. Vanessa will be a good mother. 

Brooke will not. 

-x- 

Another day and a half passes on the road with no word from Yvie on the safehouse. 

They find a gas station. Run down, like many places are these days. It’s on the fringes of a small town, mostly unaffected by the war, but still dangerous. If they’re careful, they can pull this off. 

A’keria, Mercedes and Plastique would be undetected. Vanessa and the child are recognisable at worst, and memorable at best. Brooke will never go unrecognised for the rest of her life.

Before they approach, they discuss their strategy at length. Run through a dozen possible scenarios and agree on what they will do if something goes wrong. They plan everything out like they’re about to fight a war. 

-x-

A’keria fills up the truck with gas first. That’s the priority. Then, Plastique and Mercedes enter the store with her. Brooke, Vanessa and the child wait in the truck. 

Brooke kisses her wife for the first time since their wedding night. Really kisses her. 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Brooke hopes that they reach the safehouse tonight. 

They aren’t gone for more than fifteen minutes, but it feels like much longer. Brooke is convinced they’ve been recognised or captured or worse. She holds Vanessa and the child close to her, savouring every moment that they can. 

Then, A’keria jumps into the driver’s seat quickly and tosses a large bag of supplies into the back. The door has barely closed behind her as she’s starting the ignition. 

“What about Plastique and Mercedes?” Vanessa asks as she fumbles to clip on the child’s seat belt. 

“They aren’t coming.”

“But-“

“They aren’t coming,” she reiterates.

So, their vehicle is compromised too.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t posted anything in a loooong ass time, so this is just a little something I came up with to get my brain back into gear. 
> 
> Not sure if I will continue this, or if it even makes sense for that matter... but lets see how this goes. Feel free to let me know what you think!


End file.
